


As Intended

by Dirtcore Dreams (NakedEye)



Series: Upon Request [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Brother/Brother Incest, Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Massage, Raunch, Scents & Smells, Sibling Incest, Smegma, Snowballing, Sweat, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedEye/pseuds/Dirtcore%20Dreams
Summary: Sam and Dean don't often have time to spare, room to spread out. But when they do, they spend it doting on each other. Love, comfort, filth, sex.





	As Intended

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was requested over at my tumblr, (drivenbyadevilshunger). If you'd like to leave me a prompt of your own, hit up my inbox!

They take it slow. There’s something to be said for setting a mood, for sinking down into something, immersing yourself completely. It’s not a choice they get to make often, not an allowance their lifestyle provides. Sam never gets to meet all his neighbors, find a regular dish at a favorite restaurant. Dean doesn’t know the roads around home like the back of his hand. He’s not got a lucky pool cue at the bar just on the outskirts.

There’s parts of them that never set down roots or really got to flower. They’re just these loose seeds that can be sifted through, wondering what they might have grown into. Even so, they can steal pieces, glimpses. They can catch sunshine in a bottle and let it warm them just the once.

Dean makes dinner, something that’ll sit heavy in their gut in the best kind of way. Sam finds some cheesy, fun sci-fi rerun on-- sets up tv dinner trays and pours frothy beers into sweaty glasses. They take their heavy boots off in unison, smirk at each other and sigh as they wiggle their toes. Old, pilled socks long turned grey seep out the sour stink they’d worked up through the day. Sam’s is much stronger, tangier, thick enough to taste. Dean plays footsie with him a little as they scarf what’s on their plates fast, while it’s hot.

Sweat has dried on the back of their necks and is a little itchy. Dirt and a bit of blood is stuck under fingernails. Sam’s shoulder twinges from that one, nasty tackle. Dean’s joints creak, they don’t quite bend like they used to. But the television is a little fuzzy in that homey sort of way, feels so familiar to them like the stale teabags and oddly patterned sheets and dimmer than they should be lamps.

Dean can never help making the first move. A romantic, a slut, a step-in father. “Scoot on up here, darlin’. Rest a bit.” Sam rolls his eyes, but tucks a smile in his neck as he moves to sit sideways in the loveseat definitely not meant to be shared with a man of his size. He folds his legs so Dean can grip his feet.

Thumbs dig into arches, just this side of painful. Hands grip onto the other side to force his muscles to bend. Sam lets out these little chuffs, an occasional, smothered whimper, lolls his head when the socks get peeled off and they’re finally skin to skin. Like this the scent is so much stronger, still wet between his toes and salty. Dean hums, low and predator-interested as he presses his cheek to one, plants kisses on the ball of the other. Sometimes watching him part his lips so slowly around a slightly hairy toe, Sam swears he looks like he’s about to eat them, like he’s indulging in the most decadent, forbidden feast.

And in a way he is. Because Dean doesn’t hide the way he palms himself through his tented jeans as he outright fellates his brother’s foot. Sticky strings of saliva start to make lewd sounds and smear across his pretty lips in the most obscene way. He nuzzles between Sam’s toes, breathes the hot damp in deep. He scrapes his teeth down the arch, just sharp enough to make his baby brother wriggle. He growls as he grips at an ankle, yanks Sam down with a yelp to dig his heel into Dean’s crotch, __feel__ the hardness of his cock.

By now, Sam’s own flushed, slender head is poking out the waistband of his jeans. His cock is so long the precum drooling from it wells up in his navel, shiny and sticky and salty when he dips a finger in to taste. He plays with it idly, shrugging the foreskin back to show off smegma caked beneath the ridges, blooming in wrinkles and folds.

They don’t have time, much, to wash. Always on the road for a new quarry, pissing in bottles and tucked in the same underwear they’ve been sporting all week. Sam used to get embarrassed, his lovers for the night looking at such filth with disgust and disdain.

But when Dean first had him-- when his big brother who always took care of him and loved him and wanted him--pushed him against a brick wall behind a gas station and knelt in the grease to swallow his cock, he looked at it with such hunger. His green, green eyes were so dark as to swallow the shine and he breathed hotly, wetly where Sam’s shaft met his balls. He groaned and breathed it in and smeared the grime across his lips so he could taste as he licked Sam clean.

It was… odd to adjust. Dean was even naturally more steeped in it. Crescent stains ever present in the pits of his shirts, dick coated, ass dirty. Bet when he slid between Sam’s thighs, ground their crotches together, licked at his baby brother’s pits and nursed on his tits like a child, he made it so simple.

“This is just us, baby. As we are.” He said it with his hand to Sam’s chest, his cock in his ass, his eyes desperately searching for understanding in Sam’s features. He was talking about their raunch. He was talking about their incest. He was talking about their life on the road. Sam tangled his fingers in his big brother’s hair and licked into his mouth and begged him to cum inside so he could feel it leaking into his jeans the whole day after.

So now it was just creature comfort, to wrap his toes around Dean’s nasty dick, rub against the leaking head, grip against the slick shaft, push down into the swollen heat of his uneven balls. His brother looked so blissed as he made little, breathy grunts, gently fucking into the space between Sam’s arches. He probably learned the sounds from ridiculous pay per view porn way too young, didn’t know the high, punched out pitch wasn’t natural. But it was entirely him. All Dean.

Sam would arch his back and lick his lips when Dean came over his toes, spilling his thick, opaque load all down the tops of his feet. He was still glassy eyed when he bent over to lick it up, suckling and blowing little, bubbly raspberries as he played in his mess. Undoubtedly some would be left to soak as he crawled up Sam’s body, leaning over him to drool it between their mouths, share in a sloppy kiss.

“Feel better, kiddo?” He’d say, breath scented with spunk and sweat, so fond and sweet, combing through the hair at Sam’s temple.

Sam would feel a flush stain his neck and down his chest, but all the same he’d curl into his, nuzzle at Dean’s cheek, tug him ever closer as he mumbled, “Ya, daddy.” Dean would make this contented sounds like purrs and suck little bruises into his neck and they’d wriggle until the movie was over-- late night infomercials signaling them to sleep.


End file.
